


Consign Me Not To Darkness

by Mochapup12



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, duck deals with becoming mundane, indrid gives good advice for someone who lives alone in the woods, moping in the forest, someone please help duck he's doing his best, spoiler alert; he's not handling it well, there is also some swearing in case you don't like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochapup12/pseuds/Mochapup12
Summary: "Like, yesterday he’d been Duck Newton, a chosen one with a magical guide, fighting skills, a destiny, and an admittedly terrible talking sword. As of now, he was Duck Newton, a dude with a badge, a skateboard, and a mid-life crisis. He at least still had the sword, which honestly wasn’t even much of a bonus."Duck handles the aftermath of his connection to Minerva being severed like an adult - which is to say that he only spends a couple hours face-down on his living room floor before deciding to go for a walk in an attempt to clear his head. He'd hoped to be left alone in the woods. As it turns out, it's hard to find somewhere to sulk in peace when you're friends with a guy who can see the future.





	Consign Me Not To Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> i got to the lunar interlude after arc 3 and i want to give duck a hug someone please help this poor man he's doing his best
> 
> this is mildly canon divergent - it assumes that indrid went back to his winnebago after the fight and didn't just vanish into the void somewhere, look i just miss the mothman, okay? slight warning for anxiety and negative thoughts - duck's whole life is basically an anxiety attack at this point
> 
> disclaimer - winnie was not my idea! she belongs to thor20, and now seems to be the fandom's general consensus as to what duck's cat is like. 
> 
> title taken from broken crown by mumford and sons because i'm a basic bitch and i can do whatever i want! i hope you enjoy!

It took Duck Newton approximately two and half hours to get up off his living room floor after the door to his apartment clicked shut behind Leo Tarkesian.

 

In his defense, it had been a very stressful day. Week. Month? Okay, scratch that; he’d been stressed for years. This was just the culmination of it all. The spark that lit up the dumpster fire that was his life. The cherry on top of the shit cupcake, if you will. 

 

And god, he was just so fucking tired. It was a bone-deep, almost atomic level of exhaustion that seemed to weigh down on his very soul. He wondered idly if that was another side effect of his chosen one powers being gone. 

 

Or maybe, he mused with his face pressed into the carpet, he was just being a fucking baby.

 

Yeah, that was probably it.

 

With a weary sigh, he managed to roll over so that he was on his back, staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling. What the fuck was happening to him? He didn’t know what to feel, what to do, where to even start sorting through the raging mess inside his head. It was like he was always two steps behind everything. One minute, he’d been determinedly avoiding his ‘destiny’ like it was a plague, and it had come after him anyway. Then, just as he’d finally started to get the hang of it, it was ripped away from him. What kind of shitty cosmic joke was that? 

 

What the fuck he supposed to do now? Die? Because that’s what was going to happen if he tried to fight monsters like this.

 

Like, yesterday he’d been Duck Newton, a chosen one with a magical guide, fighting skills, a destiny, and an admittedly terrible talking sword. As of now, he was Duck Newton, a dude with a badge, a skateboard, and a mid-life crisis. He at least still had the sword, which honestly wasn’t even much of a bonus. They were both just damaged goods now. His chest seized a little at the thought.

 

Oh, right. This was what an anxiety attack felt like.

 

He dragged his hands through his hair and briefly considered never getting off the floor. Let it consume him or whatever, who cared. He then thought about wandering out into the woods and getting high out of his mind; it had been a while, and fuck if he couldn’t use the distraction. But again, he was a government employee. Random drug tests and all that. That was why he’d stopped in the first place.

 

It was still tempting, but at this point, his job was just about all he had left. If he lost that, it would really be over for him.

 

Still, fucking off to the woods for a while and abandoning society for as long as he could get away with sounded pretty good right now.

 

Great, he had a plan.

 

Next step - getting off the floor.

 

Hm. Maybe it wasn’t worth it after all.

 

Just as he cycled back around to what he was calling Plan A (Duck gives up and becomes one with the carpet,) there was plaintive meow from next to his elbow. When he didn’t respond, it came again, a bit more insistent.

 

After being ignored for a second time, its source leaped up onto his stomach and dug in her claws. Duck whipped his head up with a yelp and found himself eye to grumpy eye with his cat, Winnie.

 

Satisfied that she had his attention, Winnie headbutted his chin and whisked her feathery tail over his face as she turned to jump down. Evidently, there would be no lying around mired in existential despair so long as there was a cat to be fed.

 

Not for the first time, he was glad that he’d rescued her. Or maybe, said a little voice in the back of his mind, it was the other way around.

 

Either way, she wasn’t going to let him rest until she’d been fed. Duck took a second to gather his thoughts, then propped himself up on his elbows until he could see Winnie waiting calmly by her bowl. She watched him struggle to his feet with a cool blue gaze and her tail tucked primly over her paws. She practically radiated smugness.

 

On second thought, his cat was just an asshole.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I see you. Not a moment of fuckin’ peace with you around, I swear…” Duck mumbled, dragging himself to the closet where he kept her food. She tilted her head at him and blinked innocently. What a menace.

 

Once Winnie’s bowl was filled, Duck scratched her behind her ears the way she liked and left her to eat. He definitely needed fresh air. The forest had always been something of an escape for him; he’d been running from his problems there since he was a teenager. It was so easy to lose yourself out among the trees, and sometimes that was exactly what he needed.

 

Within five minutes, he’d pulled on a pair of mud-stained boots and a slightly weathered jacket and was making his way to the front door. He left Beacon lying on the counter. Maybe not the wisest move, but he honestly couldn’t stand to be around him right now. He snagged his hat off of a hook by the door, and was outside before he could overthink leaving in the first place.

 

It was late afternoon. The sun was beginning to set behind the hills, and there was a frigid bite to the air that stung his cheeks and caught his breath. Cold aside, the night was clear and calm. He could see the first faint dots of stars appearing overhead.

 

Perfect.

 

Without a true destination in mind, Duck began to walk. After so many years here, he knew this forest like the back of his hand. Getting lost wasn’t really a concern for him anymore, not even at night. It wasn’t long before he stepped off the main road out of town and onto the hard-frozen ground of the forest. As he walked further into the trees, he could feel some of the tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders.

 

He’d never been sure what the appeal was for him. The solitude had something to do with it, certainly, but wandering through the woods in mid-December probably wasn’t most people’s idea of a good time.

 

He supposed that it was because out here, he didn’t have to be anyone in particular. Out here, he was just Duck. He didn’t have to worry about being a chosen one, or not being special at all, or anything else. The forest didn’t care about his destiny. He could just be Duck Newton, park ranger, and didn’t have to think about what that meant. He could just… be.

 

The sun set, and the moon was full and bright as he made his way deeper into the woods. It had only been a day since they’d defeated the cottonwood tree; there was still plenty of light to see by. As the last traces of golden sunlight faded from the horizon, the world around him glowed silver, everything cast in sharp monochrome relief. A light dusting of snow still gleamed on the undergrowth around him. The temperature was steadily dropping, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking when he reached a small clearing deep within the forest. When he glanced up, the galaxy was laid out in a glittering road high above. Well, what the hell. He was already out here. He hadn’t stargazed in years. Besides, this was as good a place to stop as any.

 

Duck brushed some of the snow off of the grass in the center of the clearing, then flopped down unceremoniously. He laid back, taking his hat off and resting it on his chest. After a moment, he could feel snowmelt seeping in through his clothes.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

The stars twinkled impassively above him, and he sighed, already picking out familiar constellations. He’d learned them all back in high school. Back then, he’d used to come out and do this all the time. Beyond just being in the forest, something about the stars had always given him a bit of peace. They were constant. They had been there long before him, and would still be there long after.

 

Distantly, he wondered if Minerva’s planet had orbited any of the ones he could see.

 

He looked away.

 

How was he supposed to deal with any of this? He was just one person. Just one regular guy. How had he ever become tangled up in all this nonsense about fate and destiny and saving the world? There must have been a mistake somewhere. Minerva must have mixed him up with someone else all those years ago.

 

Not that it mattered now.

 

That was the thing though, wasn’t it? He hadn’t even wanted this in the first place. So why was he so upset about it now?

 

_ Because you’re afraid _ , a voice in the back of his mind supplied.  _ You don’t know who you are. You never have. But at least with her help, you were stronger. You could fight. You could protect the people you love. Now you’re nothing. _

 

Duck squeezed his eyes shut. He’d never wanted to be special. But now he didn’t know who he was without it.

 

“Room for one more?” The soft voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he sat up abruptly. For a moment, he didn’t see anyone. He squinted into the darkness. Then movement caught his eye, and he sighed. Standing at the edge of clearing, half-hidden in the shadows and draped in a thick knitted blanket, was Indrid Cold.

 

He was back in his human disguise, which threw Duck for a bit of a loop. As far as he knew, Indrid’s glasses were still in his coat pocket. Yet there he was, grinning beneath a pair of red spectacles.

 

Noticing Duck’s confusion, Indrid stepped out of the trees and walked closer, settling down on the ground next to him.

 

“Backup pair,” he said by way of an explanation. “Any smart Sylph that lives alone keeps spare charms on them. If nothing else, I could have just made a new one. But I have to admit, I’m rather attached to the look. I would still like the original pair back, though, if you don’t mind.”

 

Wordlessly, Duck pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over, then laid back down in the snow. It took him a minute to find his voice.

 

“What’re you doing out here, Indrid?” he asked finally. His tone rang hollow and tired in his ears.

 

Indrid shrugged. “You’re not far from the campground, Duck. I knew you’d be around somewhere eventually. And I also knew that you might need someone to talk to, even if it’s not what you think you want. So here I am.”

 

Duck laughed, humorless. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but talking is just about the last thing I want to do right now.”

 

“Alright.” Indrid said. Taken aback, Duck glanced over at him. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, and the blanket effectively shrouding his whole body. His head was tipped back to look at the sky; from this angle, Duck could see his long eyelashes framing surprisingly warm hazel eyes.

 

“Really? That’s it?” he said.

 

Indrid raised an eyebrow at him. “You said you didn’t want to talk. I’m not going to force you, Duck. If you change your mind, you’ll do it when you’re ready. Until then, I’ll be here. Nice night for stargazing, anyway.”

 

Duck swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. He was used to pity, questions, pressing curiosity, all the things that made him not want to tell people about things like this. All it ever did was make him feel like shit. But this… This was different. He’d never had anyone sit with him like this before, just to be there.

 

It was a nice change of pace.

 

“What’s the point, even,” he muttered after a few minutes. “I’m sure you already know all about what happened anyway.”

 

“True,” Indrid said. “But I’m not here because of what happened. I’m here because of how much it’s hurting you.”

 

Duck huffed and started to say something, but Indrid beat him to it.

 

“You don’t need my help and you didn’t ask for it, I know. But you should know, Duck, that I consider you a friend. And this is what friends do, is it not? I didn’t walk all the way out here in the cold because of a misguided sense of obligation. I came because I was worried about you.” He paused, considering his words or possibly consulting the future before continuing. “You don’t want to feel like you’re burdening other people with your problems. I understand, really, I do. But that’s what happens when someone cares about you. You don’t really get a say in the matter. Your problems become theirs, to an extent. As long as you’re hurting, they will worry. And it isn’t something to feel guilty about. That’s just the nature of things.”

 

“Still,” Duck started. “I can handle this on my own, I don’t need you wandering around in the snow when you can barely tolerate room temperature just for my sorry ass.”

 

“Why yes, it appears that you’re handling it quite well at the moment. On an unrelated note, if you keep lying in the snow like that, you’ll wind up with hypothermia in, oh, about twenty minutes.”

 

“Point fuckin’ taken, man, okay?” Duck said, more venom in his voice than he’d intended. He sat up, glaring at Indrid. “Look, who even cares? Why do  _ you _ even care? What does any of it matter? I’m not - I can’t - I can’t fucking do anything anymore, Indrid. Why even fucking bother? The next time I try to go up against something like that fucking tree, I’m basically signing my own death certificate.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to stop the frustration rising and clawing at his throat - something like panic flashed dimly through his mind at the sensation. “At this point, I might as well head on up to the fuckin’ lodge and hand in my resignation now. What good am I to them like this?”

 

He fell silent, shaking his head with unvoiced frustration. A moment later, he felt a cold hand tug the edge of a soft blanket over his shoulders. He blinked, turning to look at Indrid. He was staring at the sky again, all but tucked against Duck’s side.

 

“Your link to Minerva being severed does not mean that you aren’t still capable of great things, Duck,” he murmured. “You aren’t on the path that you’re on because it’s your inevitable destiny. You’re here because you chose to be. Not many people would be willing or able to do that. To face down the kinds of things you’ve seen and still go about their lives, let alone willingly throw themselves into combat to protect the world. What you’re capable of doesn’t matter, Duck. What matters is who you are and what you choose to do.”

 

“That’s just it, though, ain’t it? I don’t even know who I am, Indrid. What do I do with that?” Duck whispered. All of his anger, his fight, his frustration seemed to be draining away into the night, leaving him with only that deep ache of exhaustion. No longer caring, he let his head slump to the side to rest against Indrid’s shoulder.

 

“I can’t give you all the answers,” Indrid sighed after a long moment. “There are some things that you have to decide for yourself. But if I know anything about you, Duck Newton, it’s that you’re a good man.”

 

Duck blinked at him, stunned momentarily into silence. But Indrid wasn’t finished.

 

“Do you know what the chances were of you choosing to walk away from the Pine Guard when you first learned about everything? They were high, Duck, very high. You were scared, understandably so. But in the end, you wouldn’t have actually done it. You might have left, certainly, but in almost every future, you would have eventually come back. Do you know why?”

 

Duck shook his head.

 

“Because you wouldn’t have been able to walk away from people that needed your help. You wouldn’t have left this fight to someone else, even if you hadn’t been a chosen one. Because you, Duck Newton, are far braver than you know. And more than anything else, your instinct to help and protect runs deep. You ignored Minerva at first because there wasn’t a recognizable threat; as soon as there was, you accepted your power, however reluctantly. That’s why you became a ranger, and that’s why you joined the Pine Guard. And it’s why you will continue to fight, and continue to win, so long as you don’t try to bear all the burdens of this yourself. You have friends, Duck. They’re here to support you. Let them, and you’ll be surprised how little really changes.”

 

Duck’s eyes burned in the cold air, and he shut them against the sudden urge to cry.

 

“You,” he started, voice hoarse, “Are a very difficult man to argue with.”

 

Indrid laughed. “So I’ve been told. It’s the future sight, honestly; it’s easy to win arguments when you already know what the other person is going to say.”

 

Duck snorted at that, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes. “Thanks, Indrid,” he said quietly. “I think this’ll all still take some getting used to, but… I appreciate it.”

 

“Of course you’ll need time; more has happened to you in the past few months than most people deal with in a lifetime. All things considered, I think you’re doing fairly well.” He paused, glancing over at Duck, who realized dimly that his hands were almost numb with the cold. “Still, you probably shouldn’t be out here like this for much longer if you want to keep all of your fingers.”

 

“I - yeah, yeah, you’re right. I, uh, I’d hate to impose, but -”

 

Indrid cut him off, shaking his head. “You’re always welcome, Duck. Come on. Let’s get you inside.” He stood up, offering Duck his hand and pulling him to his feet. He tugged the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders; Duck realized with a twinge of guilt that he was shivering underneath it.

 

Indrid stopped suddenly, turning his gaze back up to the stars. “Wait,” he said softly. Duck froze, fear sparking in his chest. Then Indrid pointed up at a spot just below the wide arc of the galaxy and smiled. “There’ll be a shooting star there in four and half seconds.”

 

Sure enough, a brilliant flash of silver light streaked past overhead a few moments later. Its trail seemed to burn itself into Duck’s mind; a touch of joy settled into place next to all of his fear and anxiety at the sight. At least there would always be rare little sparks of beauty and wonder like that in the world.

 

He looked back over at Indrid, who squeezed his hand with a gentle smile and tugged him in the direction of the trees. His cheeks burned at the realization that they were still holding hands, but Indrid didn’t seem inclined to let go.

 

“Come on, Duck. I think you’ve moped around in the cold enough for one night,” he said.

 

Duck rolled his eyes, but let himself be led along through the forest - that he knew how to navigate, he might add - like an errant child.

 

The knot of fear in his chest had begun to unravel, he realized during the short trek to Indrid’s Winnebago. He wasn’t quite so scared anymore.

 

Apparently, a listening ear, a warm blanket, some damn good advice, and a cold hand in his did wonders.

 

If anyone asked, he would blame it on the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> i considered making this longer but it felt like a good place to stop - besides, i've already written about them hugging in the winnebago before. gotta branch out y'know
> 
> i hope you liked it! please consider leaving a comment if you did - there's honestly nothing that motivates me to write more than validation from strangers on the internet. as always, you can find me on tumblr @story-and-song!
> 
> thanks for reading!


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